It’s an obvious fact that most of our political gatherings take place in towns and cities and, Tolpuddle apart, the countryside’s contribution to our radical history tends to get overlooked.

Wandering round the little school at Burston I learned a lot. An inspiring day, with a storming speech from Jeremy Corbyn, a brilliant set from Steve White and the Protest Family, another from Banner Theatre — and, yes, I had a great time on stage as well.

…

In a far more real sense than Cameron could ever imagine, these days we are all in this together and our rallies and campaigns prove it. One of Jeremy’s greatest achievements is giving the notoriously squabble-and-split-prone British left a common sense of purpose.

The Judean People’s Front and the People’s Front of Judea are well and truly cohabiting — and the Popular People’s Front are cuddling up as well.

Good to see and it has to go further — part of our new thinking has to be an end to all kinds of political tribalism.

I totally support Clive Lewis MP’s idea of a progressive alliance across the left so that there is only one candidate against the Tories in each constituency. Given our ludicrous electoral system it’s the way to get them out — I want to get rid of them by any means necessary.

And, controversially maybe, I think that if the Liberal Democrats ever want anyone to think of them as anything else than a bunch of abject Tory collaborators, they need to be in there too. Once Jeremy has won we must reach out, build bridges and do whatever it takes to win power!

Our Keep Corbyn election tour, featuring a host of radical performers, is now in full swing and continues until the leadership election is over — full details are at jc4pmtour.com.

Last Monday we absolutely rocked Cardiff, despite a clash with the Wales v Moldova [football] fixture, this Sunday we’re in Manchester and next Tuesday at the Dome in my home town of Brighton.

I’ll tell you how much I support Jeremy. Mark Serwotka of the PCS was supposed to be hosting the gig but he’s in hospital — a big get well soon to a very nice bloke and committed socialist — so I have agreed to compere the gig.

This means that for the first time in my adult life I’ll be in Brighton when the Seagulls are playing and not at the match. Apart from for my wife Robina, of course, greater love hath no man than this.

I reject the libel perpetrated by the right that our species is fated by our biology to be comprised of heartless, selfish scumbags. Virtually none of the people I know are like that and I suspect that those reading this would agree that most of the people they know aren’t either.

The vast majority of people believe in community, in social justice, in “a fair day’s work for a fair day’s pay” as my mum used to put it.

And talking of Jeremy, Labour PLP “coup” organisers saying that the current 27 per cent poll rating is Corbyn’s fault is ludicrous. Bit like a bunch of drunks smashing up a peaceful gig and then blaming the promoter.

This weekend I’m performing at Gail’s lovely Something Else A Bit North festival at Hales Bike & Board Park near Chester — I’m bringing my bike and helmet and I’m planning to cycle for miles round the trails, but I won’t be doing any tricks on the ramps, sorry.

I would look very silly, I would hurt myself and Robina would tell me off.

The ace poet Laura Taylor is compering the event — she is currently touring with her new collection Kaleidoscope, it’s brilliant, warm and real and she’s a great performer and an ideal addition to any poetry event. Read her work and contact her via www.writeoutloud.net/profiles/laurataylor.

For the more sensitive-eared among you it’s worth pointing out that punk’s not just three chords and shouting, folks — there’s an art exhibition, a literary stage and acoustic and spoken word performances — I’m in there, obviously.

Among the hosts of treats on offer I am really looking forward to Jilted John’s first performance in decades — he’s not just about “Gordon is a Moron,” his album True Love Stories is an absolute classic.

And, before that, next Wednesday sees an absolute storming gig at my local, the Duke of Wellington in Shoreham, featuring The Argies from Buenos Aires — the Argentinian Clash — brilliant Latin political punk and a Latin acoustic set to warm things up.

I’ve invited them to play on their way to Rebellion — and on their way back to the ferry and the continuation of their massive tour of mainland Europe. They’re at the Lighthouse in Deal on Sunday August 7. Catch them if you can, folks.

Currently planning more gigs in support of Jeremy’s re-election campaign — and I’m on my way to the Edinburgh Festival soon for the first time in 20 years, talking about my autobiography Arguments Yard at the Book Festival and doing six shows as part of PBH’s Free Fringe. More details in my next column.

I remember visiting John and his family and seeing whole streets deserted, boarded up in a new town built to house steelworkers, mainly from Scotland and invited south in the early post-war years, left desolate and half-empty as many returned home after being made redundant.

In Port Talbot it’s different. It’s their home and they have nowhere else to go. I regularly drive past that seething, glowing metropolis, one of the few remaining monuments to Britain’s past as the workshop of the world on my way to gigs in Wales. It towers above the coastline and is clearly visible from the other side of the Bristol Channel.

It must not be allowed to die.

A civilised society does not permit its great industries to be undercut and their associated communities destroyed by external companies whose work conditions for their employees are far inferior, making their products cheaper.

It is especially nauseating to see generations of Tories from Thatcher onwards, people who drape themselves in the Union Jack at the slightest opportunity, systematically presiding over the destruction of domestic manufacturing. It remains to be seen how the bastards will deal with the present crisis, but all possible pressure must be put upon them.

We need steel. I’d rather pay an extra bit of tax to keep Port Talbot open, waiting for the day when it, along with the railways, the post office, utilities and our beloved NHS, can be renationalised by a Labour government. People and communities matter. I’ve seen at first hand what happened to Corby and what the closure of the mines did to those communities.

I’d rather bail out one Welsh steelworker than a whole wine bar full of bankers, that’s for sure.

For me the Brussels attack really hit home since I had returned from gigs as bassist with our Brussels-based band Contingent just two days previously and watched with relief as my friends there confirmed they were safe.

Appalling to see the public show of solidarity at the Place de la Bourse marred by a fascist march. It was one group of fascists protesting at acts committed by another, as far as I am concerned.

These fanatics are the true enemies of the faith they claim to espouse, since all that will happen as a result of their actions is more Islamophobia, more polarisation, more racist attacks. As a ghastly death cult of course they welcome all this.

Solidarity with the ordinary Muslims in Belgium and elsewhere — and with those ex-Muslims who are demanding the right that those of us nominally brought up as Christians take for granted, that of choosing to reject religion in all its forms.

My wife is a Christian, I’m not. We love and respect each other. It’s no big deal. Would that this could be the case everywhere, in all faiths, all communities.

A remarkably sober column this week, reflecting what is happening in our world. Strength and solidarity to you all. I’m off to Amsterdam and Germany next week for the latest leg of my autobiography tour.

Attila the Stockbroker (born John Baine, 21 October 1957, Southwick, Sussex, England) is a punk poet, and a folk punk musician and songwriter. He performs solo and as the leader of the band Barnstormer. He describes himself as a “sharp tongued, high energy social surrealist poet and songwriter.” He has performed over 2,700 concerts, published six books of poems, and released 30+ recordings (CDs, LPs and singles).

I’ve just finished re-reading Dickens’s Hard Times, which brilliantly satirises the Victorian bosses’ brutal philosophy of utilitarianism, which reduces human beings to mere economic cogs on subsistence wages, educated just enough to keep employers’ profits rolling in, with the disabled, sick and unemployed left to fend for themselves.

Make no mistake about it — this government’s ultimate dream would be for those days to return.

If you think this is hyperbole, consider the recent vote to reduce sickness benefit. Three of our local MPs here in West Sussex, Tim Loughton, Peter Bottomley and Nick Gibb — all vice-presidents of the local mental health charity Mind — supported the £30 cut in disability allowance, which will obviously adversely affect people with mental health problems.

That is sinking to depths which even Thatcher wouldn’t have dared to plumb.

Should I have the misfortune to be in the same room as any of these puke-inducing individuals in the near future, I shall inform them of this opinion. At very close range.

Osborne’s Budget reinforces the message that to those who have, more shall be given, to those who have not, tough.

A ludicrous electoral system enables the Tories to claim a “mandate” with 24 per cent of the electorate and do what they please, having done everything they can to try to disenfranchise sections of the population opposed to their loathsome ideology.

And they and their supporters are quite open about it now. Not fair? Undemocratic? So what?

Sun executive Trevor Kavanagh admits on live television that Rupert Murdoch will tell them what line to take about the EU referendum. In other words, the personal opinion of an Australian resident of the US will determine the stance of Britain’s biggest-selling “newspaper” on one of the most important issues to face our country for a generation. Once again, the charade of “freedom of the press” is there for all to see.

But we are fighting back, led by Jeremy Corbyn and a revitalised and radical Labour Party, literally laughing in the faces of those who try to smear and discredit him and us and the gullible fools who believe them.

Brilliant gig at Croydon’s Fairfield Halls last Sunday night alongside Charlotte Church, Jeremy Hardy, Michael Rosen and many more on the south London leg of the JC4PM tour. It is going all over the country, a great opportunity to meet up, have fun and celebrate our solidarity. Check it out!

Writing this on my way to Brussels for a weekend as bass player with Contingent, my old Belgian punk band muckers. Doing my customary pub crawl from the Eurostar terminus at Midi station to Muriel’s flat in Schaerbeek where we rehearse, then we have festivals in Paris and Rennes tomorrow and Saturday.

2015 has been a momentous year for me, personally, poetically and politically.

On September 12, I was just driving out of my adopted 1980s home town of Harlow, having done a storming gig there the night before celebrating the recent publication of my autobiography. The news came through that Jeremy Corbyn had been elected leader of the Labour Party by a landslide. I had to stop the car as I listened to his victory speech. Tears of happiness filled my eyes and I punched the air. But I forgot I was still in the car and I punched the roof.

That is true, funny and it hurt but I didn’t care. It was the culmination of a very happy few weeks for me. I’d recently been given the all-clear after an operation for suspected bladder cancer, was about to become a step-grandad for the first time, and the Seagulls had just soared to the top of the Championship.

Corbyn’s amazing, inspirational victory was the absolute icing on the cake. In fact, it was two layers of icing with a great big bar of chocolate on top of those, a chocolate seagull with a red star made of strawberries on its head perched on that and the whole thing topped off with a load of clotted cream and six pints of Dark Star Six Hop Ale. Magic.

Against all the odds, sneers, put-downs and scare stories from the national media, many of whose so-called journalists’ tongues are a deep shade of brown from constantly ensuring that the rectal cavities of the likes of Rupert Murdoch are as clean as a Singaporean airport lounge, we got it.

And our “new radical party” is the one it always should have been — the Labour Party.

I did 37 gigs between September and December on my autobiography tour, all over England and Wales, and the vibrant new hope I have encountered everywhere has been a joy to behold.

As we know, local Constituency Labour Parties have had a huge influx of members — including yours truly — and a huge grassroots movement is growing. Even in constituencies like my local one, where literally a dead duck could get elected wearing a Tory rosette, the recruits are flooding in.

Of course, the power of the opposition is daunting, not least because some of it is from within the Labour Party itself. But the sneers and jibes of the Tory press are testament to how frightened the tiny, unrepresentative elite which controls it are that their power could one day be taken away and legislation passed to bring true media democracy to this country.

That day certainly can’t come fast enough for me.

I certainly fully intend to spend 2016 as I have 2015, travelling the country and further afield as Comrade Corbyn’s unofficial — indeed unsolicited — social surrealist Minister of Propaganda. With a few reservations, not to be mentioned here — you can’t agree with someone about EVERYTHING, that’s being sycophantic. I’ll be spreading ideas, drinking beer and having fun. Fun’s important, you know! Beery Clashmas and a Hoppy New Year to you all.

LAST Saturday was, quite simply, one of the happiest days of my life. I was driving out of Harlow after an absolutely fantastic book-launch gig in the town where I had been based for much of the ’80s and done all my early gigs when I heard the leadership election result.

I found a lay-by, stopped the car and listened with joy to Jeremy’s acceptance speech, immediately deciding to rejoin the Labour Party — which I’ve now done.

And, later that day, Brighton won to go four points clear at the top of the Championship.

Just look at us – we’re the scourge of the land
We’re Jeremy Corbyn’s favourite band
We all eat babies and we’re Commies too
And we’ve all got Aids and we’ll give it to you
With scaly tails and horns and hooves
We undermine everything that moves
You can read about us in the right-wing press
The Sun, the Mail and the Express
So don’t mess with us ’cos we’re Lefties and we smell –
We’re the Corbyn Supporters from Hell!

If your telly goes wrong or your car won’t start
You can bet your life we played our part
If your team doesn’t win or you miss the bus
Then ten to one it’s all down to us
If a dog runs off with your copy of the Sun
And brings it back with the crossword done
If your best mate becomes a Red
Or you find a squatter in your bed
We did it — and everything else as well
’Cos we’re Corbyn Supporters from Hell!

We make your pub sell proper beer
We banned the broadcast of Top Gear
We’re all pacifists, bi and gay
And members of the IRA
We love all asylum seekers
And make you pay for their posh sneakers
We won’t sing songs for the Queen
We think X Factor is obscene
So don’t mess with us, ’cos we’re Lefties and we smell
— We’re the Corbyn Supporters from Hell!

A Nobel Prize winner and a best-selling author are among the economists Jeremy Corbyn has selected to advise him. Joseph Stiglitz and Capital in the 21st Century author Thomas Piketty will develop ideas for the Labour leader and shadow chancellor John McDonnell: here.

Now my autobiography is finished the gigs are beginning to start again. Today my wife and I are off to Lerwick for my first ever appearances in Shetland – hooray! Looking forward to that, and to sampling the ale from the legendary Valhalla Brewery — an extended report of proceedings will be in my next column.

And I had a brilliant show last Sunday at the Winter of Discontent punk festival in north London with Sunderland heroes and old mates Angelic Upstarts, Welsh anti-fascist legends The Oppressed and Edinburgh’s hilarious Oi Polloi.

Now a bit more from the book.

To set the scene — it’s 1997 and the crisis at my beloved Brighton & Hove Albion is at its height. Our Goldstone Ground has been sold to property speculators, we’re playing our “home” games at Gillingham, a round trip of 140 miles, and we’re second from bottom of the entire Football League.

To try and liven things up a bit, I’ve persuaded club chairman Dick Knight to let me be PA announcer and DJ, playing punk, reggae and ska. It’s Boxing Day 1997, at home to Colchester. A noon kick-off.

We’d obviously had to set off really early to get to Gillingham in time for the game and everyone was a bit bleary-eyed. So, for the first time, I decided to play Anarchy in the UK by the Sex Pistols. It had been on for about a minute when a policeman burst into the box.

“Take that off! Take that off! Now!”

“Why?’”I asked. But I could see that he was really angry. So I did, and put the Clash on instead.

This music video from England is called The Clash – Janie Jones (live at the Belle Vue, Manchester, UK 15. November 1977).

“You can’t play that record at a football match. It’s banned. It’s on THE LIST!”

“What list?” I asked. “No-one has ever told me there was a list of records I couldn’t play!”

“Well, it’s obvious, isn’t it!’ he shouted. “It’s obvious!”

I stood there, the Clash playing in the background, perplexed. It evidently wasn’t “obvious” to me and the fact that he needed to explain further made him even more angry. “It incites violence in the crowd!” he exclaimed.

I thought for a few seconds. “Well, officer,” I said. “I bought two copies of Anarchy in the UK in the black sleeve on EMI Records on the day that it came out in 1976. I have played it and heard it many, many times since and not once has doing so given me violent thoughts of any kind whatsoever.

“I have also been to all 92 Football League grounds and every time I have heard In the Air Tonight by Phil Collins I have had to restrain myself from committing serious acts of criminal damage!”

He didn’t get the joke and, a couple of days later, Brighton & Hove Albion FC received a formal letter from Kent Police banning me from doing the PA at Gillingham any longer.

Dick Knight phoned me up. “I’m not having that, John!” He spoke to them and the ban was rescinded, on condition that I didn’t play Anarchy in the UK again. So I didn’t.